because the night
by RattyCatty
Summary: Post season 5 finale - the Swan-Mills family road-trip back to Storybrooke. Regina deals with being split in half, and you help her, but most of all, you're a family, and for the moment things are ok. Pre SQ.


**Yooo this took a while! I've been working on something based on the (surprisingly good!) finale for a while and I was having trouble getting something together that did it justice but here's this. Swan-Mills family night-time road-trip back from New York post season 5 finale, containing all the expected spoilers ofc.**

 **Swan/Regal Believer and lots of supportive family stuff inside!**

 **Warnings for some swearing~**

 **If you like it feel free to drop me a quick message bc I'm very thirsty! Or tell me what you didn't like so much :^]**

* * *

Dust crumbles through her fingers, dull and meaningless, forming a neat pile on the wooden slats whilst some floats away on the wind. The Evil Queen disintegrates into nothingness, burning rage and perfect poise dissipating like smoke, a whole lifetime fading, and then they're left alone on the roof.

Regina shakes as she gasps a quiet sob. Her whole body trembles like a leaf, her lips quivering as she turns to you with wet, terrified eyes deeper than anything. They're intense as always, and full of words unsaid, words that Regina won't say yet – not this soon.

Most of all, though, Regina looks _scared_ _– I-just-ripped-my-own-heart-out-and-crushed_ - _it_ scared and _I-don't-know-what-the-fuck-happens-next_ scared – and before you can stop yourself, your legs are moving of their own accord. You take her in your arms and try not to think about how uncomfortably delicate she feels, and a second later, her arms are wrapping around you and holding tight.

It doesn't matter that you've never done this – that your relationship has never been warm hugging and cheeks pressed together and her fingers trailing through the ends of your hair; that's what it is now, and it feels _right._

She exhales slowly, picking up the pieces of herself, and you have to suppress a shiver at the way her warm breath skims your ear. After a long moment, Regina's trembling eases until it's just her hands and her knees that wobble. Almost reluctantly, she pulls away, eyes down. She refuses to meet yours until she's wiped roughly at the wetness on her cheeks.

Snow arrives at her side, one gentle hand on Regina's lower back – subtle and never smothering (who knew Snow could be either) but _there_ and supportive all the same. She's gentle, hushed words of concern and reassurance until Regina is resorting to something like her usual wit (with none of the edge) to reassure her oldest friend that she's _fine._

And then Regina gives you this small smile that speaks gratitude and care, extends the same smile to the woman who had been her enemy all those years ago.

She breathes out once more, gathering strength, and then says resolutely, "Let's go home."

Her fingers brush lightly against yours and you try not to imagine a world where _home_ is the same warm, safe manor for the both of you.

* * *

"She's gone?" Henry asks. Light dances in his hopeful, bright eyes, and your heart squeezes in your chest.

"She is," Regina confirms with a nod. The corners of her lips curl up into a smile.

A grin breaks out across Henry's face, and he practically launches himself across the sofa in half a second to wrap his arms around his mom and bury his face in the crook of her shoulder. She chuckles, light and amused, and pulls him closer, pressing a kiss into his messy dark hair. (He's in dire need of a haircut, but he keeps insisting Violet likes his hair so it must stay as is.)

Regina's eyes meet yours over his head and they're bright and mirthful in a way that you haven't quite seen before. You've seen her happy, and you've seen her smug, and you've seen her drunk and teasing, but this is none of that. It's soft and it's _free_ – like the immense weight she's carried for so long has finally been lifted.

Mother and son part, and Henry looks at his mom with a soft smile that's way too thoughtful and gentle for any teenage boy. (He's not just any teen, though, you think; he's yours – the son of two women who have been through much, and he understands more than perhaps he should.)

"I'm proud of you, mom," Henry proclaims. His hand is still on Regina's shoulder, and Regina goes all melty at his words.

* * *

A little later, you go for a walk around the city because Henry wants to show Violet what New York is like _without_ portals and Dark Ones screwing around and such. (Regina's getting a little restless stuck in the suffocating apartment with eight other people, but she won't say it – it's in the way she taps her fingers and fidgets more than usual and paces a few steps every now and then. You don't ask why because you know she won't say until she's ready.)

There's a pizza place a few blocks away, and the smell of greasy goods carries out onto the street illuminated by white street lamps and flashing neon signs. Henry, a good metre ahead of his trailing mothers, bounces on the balls of his feet and turns to the both of you with a beaming grin. His fingers are laced loosely with Violet's.

"Ma, remember this place?" he says earnestly. "We used to come here all the time when we lived here!"

You smile, remembering pizza and video games and a simple life without magic and curses and villains constantly threatening the wellbeing of your family – remembering the perfect life you had for a year.

Remembering the life Regina gave you both.

But it hadn't been real – not truly.

And it had been _good_ when it was just you and Henry, but now you have your parents and more friends than you know what to do with (even after everything) and _Regina._

"Yeah, kid, I remember," you agree with a fond chuckle. "I remember the time you made yourself sick 'cause you ordered a million extra toppings and ate the whole damn pizza."

Henry cringes and glances cautiously at Violet, but when he only finds her smiling in amusement, he relaxes again. "Yeah, well, they don't call it the best pizza in New York for nothing," he retorts. "Moms, can we?"

You cast a look at Regina, waiting for her to call the shots (because as much as you're _both_ his moms now, Regina's still mostly the Responsible Adult Decision-Making one, and you respect that. It doesn't make you any less Henry's mom – just she's better at certain things and you're better at others.)

There's this look in her eyes, warm and affectionate, and completely unguarded. If you didn't know better, you'd think she was about to cry.

(You've never had the worst of yourself torn out before, but you can imagine it's overwhelming and there'll be some adjustment issues.)

After a moment, Regina nods and grins. "Sure. I don't see why not."

"Thanks, mom," Henry says happily, letting go of Violet's hand to give Regina a quick one-armed hug around the waist. A moment later has him back with Violet, leading her into the restaurant, gushing something like, "You've _got_ to try…"

Regina smiles and watches her little boy go, and then she turns to you, bumping her shoulder lightly against yours. "So, sheriff, what would you recommend?"

* * *

When you order your usual pepperoni and extra cheese with a stuffed crust, Regina gives you a look of pure despair and awe before shaking her head and saying something about the inevitable heart attack you're going to have.

When she dabs at the grease on her pepper and mushroom pizza ( _completely_ ignoring your recommendation) with a napkin, you snort and push a small piece of your own pizza towards her, telling her, "A bit of grease won't kill you, y'know."

She shoots you a look saying she thinks otherwise, but you catch her sneaking the piece into her mouth when she thinks no one's looking, and after that, you kind of accidentally start sharing the pizzas between the two of you.

It's nice. Very nice, actually – like a real family.

You banter and bicker, and Henry and Violet watch you with amused, knowing smirks, and when the four of you are full and you've taken a long detour to see the sights, you head slowly back to the car, basking in the warmth of the moment.

Your phone buzzes in your jean pocket – a text from Snow informing you of their plans to get home. It buzzes a second time, and you read the next message – worried and in all caps: **IS REGINA OK?** You tap out a quick reassurance before slipping your phone back into your pocket. "It's just us for the ride back," you say. "The others have managed to cram into Gold's car."

Regina snorts. "I'd love to see that," she laughs, and you can't help but agree.

Zelena may be hanging out with heroes now, but she still loves to antagonise, and Hook – well.

There'll be stories, if they all make it back to Storybrooke without any fatal injuries.

When you go to open the driver's door of the Bug, Regina is on the same side as you. She can't be more than a foot away, and her eyebrows are pulled into _that_ face – that very specific _Emma you're being an idiot_ face.

"What are you doing?" she asks.

You cock your head, your hand still on the door handle. "Driving us home?"

"You drove us here," Regina states.

"And?"

" _And–"_ Regina rolls her eyes. "I didn't."

You stare blankly.

"You haven't slept at all," Regina explains. "I'm not about to let you kill our family by falling asleep at the wheel." There's no venom, though, as she smiles softly and tilts her head in an almost sympathetic way.

And all you can think is _our family our family our family_ and you forget to retort for a minute. Instead, you just stare dumbly at Regina.

 _Get a hold of yourself, Swan._ You shake yourself free of softly spoken words and pointedly ignore the beauty that is Regina under dimly glowing street lamps and a dark sky. "You've had the same amount of sleep as me," you state, perplexed. "And you think I'm letting you drive when you just faced and killed your evil doppelganger two hours ago?" you ask.

Regina's face darkens a little at the implied incapability, and you immediately kick yourself for once again living with your damn foot in your mouth.

Wincing, you try again. "Who knows what weird shit Jekyll – Hyde – whoever – put in that shot?"

Regina doesn't buy it. She's insistent – that hasn't changed, even with the Queen gone. She just fixes you with a Look. "I slept in the car on the way here. We'll swap half-way," she promises.

You huff half-heartedly (because you really are exhausted after spending the day driving and then running around after sons and Dark Ones and the like). "You tell me if you're getting tired, ok?" you say, more of an order than a request. When Regina nods earnestly, you scuffle around to the other side of the car and get in.

Slumped in the seat with your arms crossed over your chest.

You're not sulking.

Regina smirks at you from the driver's seat – a victory. She turns the ignition key only when she's sure you're looking over. _The cheek._

"Are you back to bickering?" Henry pipes up from the backseat. (Regina ignores the way his fingers are laced with Violet's on the seat between them.)

"No," both women answer at once – Regina lightly, and you with an _audible_ pout.

Henry snorts. He turns to Violet. "They so are."

Violet politely suppresses a giggle, but can't hide the amused smile that crosses her face.

You keep up your pretend sulking until you fall asleep, but your stomach is full and your chest is warm, like your heart might burst out of it at any moment.

You think of _our family_ and in your sleep, your lips quirk up into a soft smile.

* * *

When you awake and rub a hand over weary eyes the car is parked in an empty car park. There's a blurry neon sign a few metres away, glowing except for a few of the letters. _G s op?_ Your brain is slow and stupid. (Regina's voice fills your head – " _No change there then."_ You scowl.)

 _Gas Stop!_ You mentally pat yourself on the back for your moment of clarity. Suck it, imaginary Regina.

 _Now_ the petrol smell in your nostrils makes sense.

Only a moment after you realise it's a gas station,you realise the driver's seat is empty.

You heart jumps into your throat, pounding a million times a minute, because _fuck me if we've come this far only to lose Regina in a fucking gas station –_

Before you can rile yourself up too much, the driver's door opens, and Regina gets in, a takeaway cup in her hand. Once the door is shut once more, she runs her hand through her hair (gorgeous hair) and blinks a few times, lids heavy. She sips from the cup in her hands (coffee?) and then sets in it the cup holder between you.

Settling back into your seat, low and lazy, you take in a deep breath. "Hey," you say, your voice is rough with sleep. You hope it comes off as sexy rather than fifty-year-old-smoker. (Not that you want Regina to think you're sexy but – just – it's better, ok?)

Regina looks over at you, and forces a weary smile onto her face. "Hey."

"Where are we?" You rub at your eyes again.

"Just coming up to Boston," Regina answers. When you stop rubbing your eyes, you think you catch a fond look in her eyes, but maybe it's a trick of the light.

"Good sleep?" she asks before you can think much on it.

"Yeah," you confirm with a nod, and then a wince as a kink in your neck rudely makes itself known.

Silence hangs in the car, the only sound being the quiet tap of Regina's fingers against the steering wheel. You notice there's a crease between her brow, and in this light, the bags under her eyes are emphasised.

"You wanna swap?" you offer lightly.

A pause like she's considering declining, and then – "Ok."

She goes to open the door, but pauses again, her hand lingering on the door handle. "I didn't get you anything but you can have that if you'd like," Regina tells you, gesturing to the cup.

Before you can answer, she's getting out and coming round to your side of the car. You get out, and your shoulders brush as you pass one another. (You're used to this now – these small, meaningless touches that are a hallmark of your friendship these days – yet they still make your tummy flutter.)

A moment later, the two of you are resettled in your new places, and you take a tentative sip of the unknown drink. It's coffee, black and with not nearly enough sugar and cream in for your liking, and your face must crumple a little because Regina actually apologises.

"Sorry, I got it for me and–"

You swallow it all the same, and shake your head. "Hey, it's cool," you assure her. "Thanks." You take another large sip and try to ignore the taste because you need the caffeine, and then place it back in the cup holder.

Henry and Violet are asleep in the back, dead to the world and not about to stir anytime soon, so you just start up the engine and begin to drive.

* * *

About half an hour later, Regina is asleep too – curled up in her seat with her heels kicked off and her head resting against the window. It's cute, actually – very cute. Especially how every now and then she fidgets in her sleep and makes these little quiet sounds.

Totally not weird, Emma.

You've done your fair share of long-distance driving, right? It kind of comes with living a transient life in your car and escaping cops or being a bail bondsperson and chasing people across states.

But of all the times you've driven at night in a dead quiet car, it's never been so _peaceful._

You're surrounded by family, all resting quietly, and it's peaceful. There's no big evil threatening you all, no rush – just the Bug and the road and family.

You could easily get used to it.

You take another glance at Regina – relaxed and soft and unguarded – and then reluctantly focus your eyes on the road.

A few hours later, when the sun is just beginning to come up, bathing the world in shades of pink and red, Regina stirs. She stirs, and then she _jolts_ awake.

And this peace can't last long – not for them, not when they've been through so much and are so haunted.

The brunette twitches and shifts restlessly in her sleep before coming to with a gasp. She freezes, takes in her surrounds, and swallows before carefully righting herself, slipping her heels back on and smoothing out the crinkles in her clothes.

"You ok?" you ask tentatively, glancing away from the road.

"Yes," Regina answers tersely, sounding anything but. Her hair is mussed ( _gorgeous hair still)_ and her hands are shaking slightly in her lap again.

You shoot her a look, and Regina reluctantly amends, "Bad dream."

And right, that would make sense. The woman just crushed her own damn heart and faced the worst of herself; that's bound to take a toll on someone.

Not to mention the fucking Underworld.

And Robin.

Jesus.

You tap yours fingers on the steering wheel for a moment. "Wanna talk about it?"

Regina doesn't answer immediately, and it's so long that you think she either hasn't heard you at all or is ignoring you.

It's probably the latter.

You're ready to drop it – no point in pushing – but then Regina speaks quietly, almost inaudible over the rumble of the Bug's engine. "The Evil Queen," she admits. "She – she had Henry – and you."

You press your lips into a line and try to keep your eyes on the road to avoid making Regina clam up again.

"She was going to do awful things to you both, and I tried to stop her – me – but she –" Regina pauses, her voice wavering all the time. "She crushed my heart just like I did hers, and I couldn't stop her from hurting either of you."

And even whilst her voice is uneven and upset, Regina tries her best to sound nonchalant. It doesn't really work (is that part of the Evil Queen, the perfect mask of nonchalance even when she's hurting so badly?) but still.

"She's gone," you reassure, your voice as smooth and low as possible. "She can't hurt anyone now."

Regina sucks in a breath and nods. "I know. I know," she murmurs, more to herself than to you. She glances briefly up into the rear view mirror to ensure her son and his girlfriend are still sleeping soundly. "I just – I worry." Pause. "I lose everyone I love – my parents, Daniel, Robin." Her voice cracks a little on the last name, the most recent loss, and your heart squeezes in your chest. "I can't lose you or Henry."

Your mouth goes dry, and you reckon you probably look a bit like a goldfish as your tied tongue tries to form words. Finally: "You won't," you promise. "We'll protect Henry – both of us together, just as we always have." You glance away from the vast road and find a softened expression and emotive, dark eyes. "And you're not getting rid of me that easily," you tease with a little grin.

Regina breathes out a chuckle. "No, I suppose not."

You turn your eyes back to the road because it _just won't do_ to accidentally crash just when things are starting to come together in a weird way you never imagined they would. (Everything's bad and messy but you're surrounding by family you'd never thought you'd have, and you and Regina have _something –_ a shared understanding or a connection that is worth _everything_.) The tension in the car has eased up, and the two of you enjoy the quiet for a bit longer.

"You're ok?" you ask gently a few minutes later. "You're sure? You know I won't judge if you're not."

"Yes," Regina agrees softly. "Thank you."

You allow yourself another peek, and you don't totally believe her; there's a slight anxious darkness in her eyes and a tightness in her hands that suggests something else is creeping beneath the surface.

Later, you think. You'll find out later, because Regina finds the strength within her to force such feelings down and away and pull up a mask of contentedness. You're not getting anything else out of her this morning.

"Ok," you accept with a nod.

"Mom?" comes a groggy voice from the backseat.

Regina turns to see her son rub at his eyes with his fists and stretch as much as a lanky teen boy can in the cramped Bug. "Morning," she greets warmly.

"Is it really though?" he counteracts, his voice rough with sleep but his usual sceptical wit seeping into it already. (He _definitely_ gets that from Regina.)

"No one's making you be awake, kid," you point out with a smirk, glancing at him in the rear view mirror.

"I'm hungry," he says, and right, you forget sometimes that he's a teenager now and has the eternal appetite of one.

Regina almost immediately has the glovebox open and the map out, searching for the nearest rest stop with decent food, and you snort quietly. Henry won't die if he doesn't eat immediately, but Regina is the mommiest mom to ever momand of course thinks otherwise _._

A minute later, Regina pushes the map towards you and presses a finger to one spot about twenty minutes away. You nod, and she pulls the map back into her lap. She directs you all the way there, and you'd be happy to live like this your whole life – your kid in the back, and Regina's husky voice in your ears, and the sun continuing to rise in the painted sky.

* * *

The place you pull up to is a tacky diner not unlike Granny's back home, all bright plastic and pleather that's seen better days. There are only a handful of other people – a few truckers and a young indie couple in the corner – and a lulling calm that blankets the restaurant, separating it from the rest of the world.

The four of you settle into one of the booths, the formation the same as at the pizza place, and slip naturally into easy conversation.

Regina is more subdued than before. She speaks less, and her laugh is quieter, the bright smile from the night before no longer meeting her eyes, but god, she tries.

She tries, but it's still not convincing. You watch her as carefully as you can without making it weird, trying to figure out what's up.

"Your food okay?" you try when she spends a good twenty minutes moving the same sad (and now soggy) slice of apple pancake around on her plate.

Regina looks up jerkily, and her panic to find a reasonable excuse is visible. "Fine," she replies a little too quickly and sharply. She awkwardly corrects her tone, muting it. "I just don't eat much early in the morning, is all."

And yeah, bullshit. You've slept on her couch and shared breakfast with her and Henry a few times (friends do that); you've seen her put away almost as many pancakes as Henry. (Not as many as you, but beating the reigning champion of Granny's annual eating contest is no easy task.)

"Ok," you accept with a nod, but the two of you maintain eye contact for a moment longer. Something unsaid passes between you – like Regina knows she's caught – but then Henry is saying something, and Regina's quickly masked eyes flit away to meet his bright ones.

Regina manages a few more bites (bringing the grand total up to five), but she mostly just sips her tea and rubs her thumb over her knuckles over and over again. Her body language grows increasingly agitated until Regina stops contributing to conversation at all and just picks anxiously at the hem of her sleeve under the table.

You reach out one hand and place it tentatively on her forearm beneath the table in an attempt to soothe her a little, but it backfires.

The brunette sucks in a breath and slips out of the booth. "I have to use the restroom," she lies. "I'll be back in a moment."

She's not. Ten minutes pass and you resist the urge to run after her until you can't and you figure it would be moronic to leave her. What if something happened? What if she's in trouble and there's no one around to help her?

It's the right thing to do.

"Kid, you wanna get milkshakes?" You reach into your pocket and slide some change across the table – a few crumpled bills and an old button. (You crinkle your brow and swipe the button back, dumping it back in the pocket it came from.)

"Is mom okay?" Henry asks, his brow furrowed in a way that looks exactly like Regina.

He sees through your shit every time these days, _damn it._

"Yeah, I'm sure she's fine, but I'll check anyway." You ruffle his hair when you pass him. "Grab me a strawberry one?"

Henry frowns and then nods a moment later. "Sure." His brow is still creased in concern (so much like Regina still) but he's going with it, so ok.

You flash him a grateful smile, and head off after Regina, into the small, dim bathroom.

It's grimy, everything off-shades of what you think is probably white and pink under the layer of dirt. It's hard to picture Regina – pristine, gorgeous, classy Regina – in here, but you are where you are.

From one of the stalls comes a shaky, wet exhale.

"Regina?"

The sound stops immediately. For a long minute, the only sound is the droning whir of old kitchen machines on the other side of the thin plaster walls. You take several quiet steps further into the bathroom and try to place which stall Regina is in, pushing open a few doors of vacant stalls as you go.

An almost inaudible, involuntary breath.

You stop at the cubicle furthest from the door and listen hard. "Regina," you say tentatively.

A resigned sigh and the sound of someone shifting inside.

Bingo.

"Emma," Regina mumbles, her voice husky with tears. "Go away."

You can almost picture her, sitting on the toilet lid with her knees pulled up to her chin and her head resting wearily on them – every inch Regina Mills and worlds away from the haughty queen.

"Not happening," you reply softly. "Not until I'm sure you're alright and you're calling me an idiot or something."

"I'm fine. You're an idiot," Regina says flatly. "Now leave me alone."

You snort. "Convincing. Still no." And then, softer: "What's wrong?"

Another sigh, a bit exasperated. "You're truly not leaving?"

"Nope," you say, casually popping the P.

Regina doesn't say anything else, but you can hear the sound of fabric rustling, and then heels against tile. A second later, the latch on the door undoes with a click, and Regina exits the cubicle. She walks right past you, not even meeting your eye, and stops at the sinks.

When she stares into one of the grimy mirrors, you get a good look at her. Her cheeks are wet and her eyes are red, and you've cried around one another too many times to count but it will never not be a little odd seeing Regina completely raw and unguarded like this.

Regina sighs again, long and exhausted, and leans forward with her hands either side of the sink and her head lowered. "I should feel – great," she murmurs. "She's gone and I'm free and that should make me feel wonderful but–" Regina shakes her head. "I just feel weak."

 _Oh._

And right, those adjustment issues.

"Hey," you say gently, stepping closer and touching her shoulder tentatively. "You're not weak – you never have been."

"I wasn't strong enough to handle my mother or the king or Rumple by myself. I had to become the Queen to survive because Regina wasn't – isn't – strong enough," Regina says, an edge in her voice that reveals the self-loathing she usually hides so well beneath snarky comments and haughtiness.

"That's not true," you disagree. "You beat her, Regina."

Regina just lets her eyes shut and sags, so you continue.

"You fought your darkest self for years and it was never easy but you won; you're here and she's not." You pause and watch as Regina doesn't move a muscle. "If that's not strength, I don't know what is."

The other woman breathes out through her nose. "You're just as persistent as your mother," she says lowly, in a tone that suggests she doesn't agree but also doesn't have the energy to argue right now. Slowly, she turns around to face you, still leaning back against the sink. Her eyes are dark and shadowed and yeah, this Regina is lighter and freer but she still has her fears and her past weighing down on her.

You shrug. "Yeah, well. Family, right?" you respond lightly. "You know Henry is just as snotty and stubborn as you?"

Regina glares at you then and, ok, _there's_ the Regina you're used to. "Henry is not snotty," she protests.

"He is a little bit," you tease with a tentative little smile. "You should have seen his face the first time he saw my room at Mary-Margaret's – crap everywhere."

The brunette quirks an eyebrow (and it's way weaker than usual) and says with a weary but amused smile. "Well, what do you expect when you live in a pigsty? I'm sure you deserved it." It's half-hearted and teasing and Regina must be channelling right now.

"Yeah, yeah." You roll your eyes, and then watch as Regina visibly deflates.

"How am I going to protect him?" When she glances up briefly and sees your lost expression, she clarifies: "Henry. How can I protect him now when–" Regina cuts herself off and holds up one slightly trembling hand, palm up. She flexes her fingers and frowns in concentration, her brows pulling together and her teeth sinking into her bottom lip.

For a moment, a little flickering flame ignites in Regina's hand, tiny and unstable, but then it burns itself out once more and Regina sags in defeat.

And magic outside Storybrooke is unpredictable and plain weird, but earlier Regina had accidentally set a bin on fire and even you know it shouldn't be this difficult.

There's already a new tightness beginning at the corners of Regina's eyes, the one you've seen before when you've dropped lunch off at Regina's office and she has the beginnings of a killer headache.

"Your magic," you point out pretty pointlessly and regret the dumb words as soon as they're out of your mouth. I mean, Regina already thinks you're an idiot but it's embarrassing, ok?

"Dark magic was the Queen's strong suit," Regina explains. "Mine, not so much. It took a long time to come to me when I was learning."

You suck your lower lip in thought for a second. "What about light magic?"

Regina thinks for a moment, and then holds out her palm again. She has to concentrate, but nowhere near as much as with the fireball. A second later, there's a plume of smoke – pastel purple rather than the moody violet it used to be – and she's holding a Snickers bar. "I'm not sure summoning candy will be much use in protecting our son," she says flatly, and holds the chocolate out to you.

Not one to turn down chocolate, you take it and say a quiet, "Thanks," and stuff it in your pocket for later. "It can be as powerful as dark magic, though, right? Light magic. You took out Zelena with it that time and my Saviour magic is pretty big stuff." Your voice raises a little involuntarily at the end of the last sentence, and you wonder if the whole S-word will ever stop feeling weird and arrogant.

Probably not.

"It can," Regina confirms. "I'm just not especially well-versed in it."

That sounds kind of like bullshit, because Regina has been using her weird grey Mace Windu version of magic since that time in the barn with Zelena, and she's pretty fucking kickass with it.

Not that you know masses about magic; you've forgotten a large part of the knowledge the Dark One held because of the sheer volume of it. Maybe not having any dark magic screws up whatever mostly but not entirely pure magic Regina has been using recently.

Either way, talking through the logistics of magic – something Regina is knowledgeable about and knows it – seems to have calmed her a little (or distracted her at least.)

You shrug. "I don't think that's true, but we can practice, y'know? You helped me with it. Maybe I can help you."

Regina raises her eyebrows in something like surprise and disbelief.

"And whatever happens, you won't be alone – you've got me and my parents and Zelena – as weird as that is – and you know there's not a person we know who wouldn't help protect Henry if it came to it," you tell her, sounding dangerously like your mom.

The other woman sniffs again and rubs at the still-damp tear tracks on her cheeks. She nods, and when her eyes meet yours, they're liquid once more – pooling chocolate, emotive and full of gratitude.

"And if all else fails, you throw a mean right hook," you offer playfully.

That gets a small grin and a reassuring eye roll.

"Well that's something, at least," Regina says with a hoarse chuckle.

You grin stupidly, and then sober up. Softly, you ask, "Are you ready to go back out there or do you want more time?"

Regina sucks in a breath and nods. "Let's go."

"Good, 'cause I left Henry and Violet alone together and who knows what they're doing now," you tease, walking backwards a few steps, unwilling to break eye contact.

Regina wrinkles her nose. Predictably. "Don't," she complains with a grimace.

You smirk, and head towards the door. With your back towards Regina, you can't resist playing with her a bit more. "They might even be _canoodling."_

Behind you, Regina makes a loud and undignified, "Ugh!" and you snort.

* * *

When you get back, they're _not_ canoodling, and you thank god because Regina might just have gone into cardiac arrest. Maybe you would have too. What could be a better bonding experience between friends?

"Is everything ok?" Henry asks as soon as you approach the table.

"It is now," Regina reassures him. "Don't you worry."

Henry narrows his eyes and then cocks his head. "You gonna tell me what was wrong?"

"It's not important," Regina tells him, running a hand affectionately through his messy hair. "Emma and I talked it out and everything is fine now. I promise." Her tone is warm as ever, and even now you feel fuzzy inside when she uses your name rather than _Miss Swan_ or _Sheriff_ or – even worse – _Saviour._

 _Friends use each other's first names_ is all it is.

Henry stares at his mom for a moment, as perceptive as she is, and then accepts her answer. When Regina wraps an arm casually around his shoulders, he leans in, his head on her chest, and turns it into a one-armed hug instead.

You watch the moment fondly, and when they (eventually) separate and Regina slips back into the booth, you follow. Planting your hands flat on the table, you speak and try to ignore how close Regina is sitting – her knee grazing yours and her elbow resting lightly against your waist.

"Hey, you get me that milkshake, kid?" you ask lightly, and he just gives you this crooked grin and doesn't answer. You think he's just being a little shit until a moment later, a young waitress comes over and sets a tray of milkshakes down on the table.

Except there are four, not three, and Regina gives Henry a glare for exposing her secret guilty pleasure until she takes the last milkshake on the tray – dark pink with cream and a cherry on top.

"Mayor Mills likes milkshakes," you tease and bump her shoulder with yours. "Who'd have thought?"

Regina's elbow jabs into your waist and you jump, but it's playful and it doesn't hurt, not really.

"Cherry?" you ask and wrinkle your nose.

"I like it," Regina defends, taking a sip. "You should try it sometime."

You cock your head because that sounds mildly like a challenge, and then duck quickly forward to use the second straw. Your noses bump awkwardly together and you may have overshot, but you've got to the milkshake and it's good and when you pull away, Regina is blushing lightly, so maybe it doesn't matter.

Regina pulls back and her lips part in exasperation despite the pink on her cheeks. " _Emma,_ I didn't mean–" She shakes her head. "Never mind." Her red lips curl up in amusement.

Pulling back, you nod approvingly and swallow. "S'good. You have good taste, Madam Mayor."

The other woman just smirks and nods. "I know." And she's got that _look_ on – like the cat that got the cream. "You've got cream on your nose."

You wiggle your nose and yeah, it does feel a bit funny. You half expect Regina to pull some move on you and maybe you _have_ been watching too many rom-coms on Netflix. Damn it.

Henry groans loudly and drops his head down onto his arms, covering his eyes. "You guys are so gross," he whines, and you really don't know what he means because you're _just friends_.

Regina's smirk just grows despite everything (loss and hurt and it's going to hit sooner or later but for now she's giddy), and she throws a clean napkin at your face and that's that.

Maybe you're a bit disappointed. Maybe.

Whatever.

* * *

On the drive back, Regina is lighter and more humorous than you've ever seen her. Even drunk Regina isn't this carefree; Regina is an unpredictable and changeable drunk, and one moment she can be brooding and spiralling, and the next she'll be bright and mirthful.

This Regina is light in a way that pre-split Regina had never been, even on her best days.

You'd be lying if you said you didn't enjoy it just a bit.

The radio is playing some tinny rock music, and when the song changes, Regina pauses the verbal sparring session she's having with you to lean forward and turn it up.

Which is weird in itself because you've never imagined Regina as someone who's very into music, least of all _classic rock._

But then the first curse did land them in the 80s (and somehow everyone managed to miss out on the bad hair? Funny how curses work) so maybe it's not so weird.

Still. _Regina._

You cock your head and take your eyes off the road for a moment. "You like Guns N' Roses?"

Regina's lips curl into a smile. "Surprised?"

Your eyebrows rise and you nod, turning your eyes back to the road. "This is a pretty weird day."

"Tell me about it," Regina sighs, settling a bit. Her fingers keep tapping along to the music though, and when Henry and Violet start up one of those car games, she enthusiastically joins in.

The sun keeps rising in the sky until it's shining high, bright and clear, and when the Bug slowly rolls over the town line about an hour later, Regina gets a little quieter – like she remembers who she has been and who they are, and that they can't stay in this little bubble of being a normal family on a road trip forever.

It's a taste of what's to come – because it can't all be plain sailing after everything that's happened, and there has to be a release at some point.

But you know that when it does come, Regina won't be alone. When it does come, she'll be surrounded by friends and family and between you, Henry, and your parents, you'll make sure she feels loved more than ever.

You pull up to Granny's, and said family is waiting outside in the sun with coffee and tired but pleased eyes. Your heart drops a little when you lay eyes on Hook, who halts his skulking to puff up his chest and beam proudly (why – he doesn't own you) at the Bug, and then you scold yourself.

Beside you, Regina swallows her apprehension and grasps your hand tightly in hers. She squeezes, grateful, reassuring even though you haven't said anything, understanding as ever.

And yes, you'll be there for her, and she'll be there for you too. Just as always.

That's what friends (more) are for, right?


End file.
